Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

Away from its birth nest for the very first time, With translucent tail held high in the balance position,  Young Squivino carefully walks along a branch, Awake in the world For the very first time.

Time swept you away, and I am left with beauty. Somewhere near South Park, Southern Colorado

Time swept you away, and I am left with beauty. Somewhere near South Park, Southern Colorado

Slowly the light sources readjust, preparing for a new spring.

Oh Winter Sun, where art Thou? Thou art Missing! Oh Spring Thaw, why art Thee not nipping at my frozen Roots? 'Tis nigh on March! Art thou Shy? Harlem Meer in February 2013 For the likely derivation of this scale, see Fahrenheit, The Straight Dope

How often I ponder, "Why am I not blonder?" Though golden is nice, being blond would add spice to my geist and my feist (and add twice to my price). I've nothing to lose, so sit here and muse, my owner's out walking, and I sit here talking to any believers in talking retrievers who happen to notice my hues (or my blues).

I remember that morning when the grass was as green as a new promise, And I was off and free, young and restless, bold and happy go lucky.  I had a borrowed car, and I felt wanted And I felt rich And I felt dressed And all of a sudden I was possible.  I had a date with an Air Force boy, and off we went.   Nothing happened.  Nobody saw me quite the way I saw myself.  I guess new cars were common then, in the last century.

It’s monochromatic; just brown to be seen, Not a red, not a blue, Not a varying hue, Not a hint of an aquamarine! Yes, there might be a tan or a green here and there, And maybe a black or a yellow somewhere, And maybe a grey or a pink but I swear There is nothing at all in between. But wait! Up those stairs, it looks like a light! Could it be that something’s expected tonight? There’s a dweller within! Things are not so clear-cut, The door isn’t closed, only partially shut. It’s not just a door, but a portal, that’s what! Just inches away is a magic domain With promises waiting, with dreams to regain There's a love to revive with a soul to redeem With peaches, and oranges and berries and cream.

What if there was one sunset left? I know, it’s a cliché of a question, but What it there was one sunset left? Would I have the courage to see the beauty, To watch the final sun move inch by relentless inch, Darkening, sinking, disappearing into an immovable horizon? Could I bear to love that simple act of kindness, That I’d seen ten thousand times before? What if I knew for certain?

So the grass is greener, who cares anyway? I wanted a taste of the new mown hay. I wanted that yellow green  straw as well With a horse and a loft, a particular smell. When summer rolls in with its rutting bouquet I remember the boy and his quiet way.

I see the time worn chairs of seated yesterdays:  Overstuffed and spilling springs, smelling of pipe-smoke and dinner. Morning aftershave with  pancakes, brown with syrup, wet with butter. A long walk with the trash to the alley with the lilac bushes. Lilacs! Oh the smell of lilacs! That was the day that nothing happened.  That was the day that was born at seven with scrambled eggs at noon; The day we mowed the lawn and pulled an early dandelion;  The day we saw the garden snake, and the sidewalk stayed warm from the sun;  The day with creamed peas and a bedtime story. That was the best of days.  

I know, it’s dangerous to fall in love With that sunny leaf rolling out of its bud, With that just-so razor tipped green. How did it sneak behind the lines, becoming irreplaceable? That fragile, bendy, veiny, needy, wispy, happy thing? That little life on its twiggy wing?.  So far from Believe it or Not and Daring-Do, So far from Financial Planning, So close to my mending heart Full of its own wet and willow green.

It’s close to spring; I see it in my window box. The early morning sun creeps north, thawing at the columbine roots. We do not give life up easily. Some say Eros was the son of Iris by the West Wind. A wanton child he was, torching hearts at random with his burning golden arrows.  Some say it was the gold that did it. I came across a small pool residing in a sidewalk  (Temporarily, of course) A few fall leaves still shelter there, Wet and warm with burnished gold.

I’ll go you one better! He said, and tossed in a day of his own. I saw why he raised me; the day was a snappy one, up early, hit the roaring playing fields, happy after dinner treats. I’ll call, said I, and threw in one of my best. A cool morning, sun barely up, afternoon with needles crunching in the dry mountains, evening honeysuckles I’ve two races won, sweet aftershave and a golden trophy ring, said He. I guess I’m losing this one then, I said. I’ve a room of my own with candle wax and soft shadows in the moonlight.  April, 2008

I was at the vanishing point when I met you No more space between the rails no more hiding among the driftwood ties I’d gone too far, I’d paid the pipers far too much I’ve been at the crossroads hat in hand and left without a trace. I felt the dry mouth of shriveled yesterdays Can you tell the shoreline from the shore? Can you feel the cut cracks in the sidewalk? Can you taste the iron in the bloody aftermath? And there you were offering a temporary stay I held my hand out opened I let my heart eat the insubstantial nectar, yes! I clamor back like a ravished cactus Covered at last with night blossoms Living inch by borrowed inch Witch Hazel, South of the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Come towards me faster!  Faster Now!  I can't stay inside this Greying winter frame another month. There is no waiting, don't you see?  My twigs already rage with sap My roots are swelling, growing How can I pull  the rich air into my hollow bones? I crave the smells I need the watered air  I yearn for green and apple pink! Come now come closer now I ache for spring I long to grow I need to grow into a new dimension  I am full with life and bursting! Where are my buds?  What shall I do with all this magic life? Magic Tree from the North Reservoir Path, Almost-Spring 2011  

I crossed this snowy foot-printed path and I followed along for a ways. I’ve seen a few trails and tales of grails so I thought that one of these days I’d follow the scent just see where they went and to fend off my certain malaise. They leapt and skipped and galloped and still I scampered along with an icy thrill, when at once they ceased with a swirl in the snow. What destiny fell them, I’ll never know. I conceived a great leap to foil a hawk a hidden burrow a sheltering rock-- Still now and then when we walk that way I pause at the spot and remember the day When that prescient malaise began fading away

There’s something about a Magic Tree that moves beyond complexity. I see a trunk of an aging tree, but it’s not so simple as that you see. Is that shivering twig an omen to be? Did that gnarly limb reach out at me? Did that twig-finger point surreptitiously? Did you see that specter phantom sigh? Or was that a figment of the eye? Yet look over there in the crook of a branch Do you see that wish with a second chance? That hollow near the warty burl, Is that a hibernating squirrel? Look over at that thing on the right, I think I see an inner light! And near that fork with the melting snow, There’s a shelter for those with no place to go. There’s a landing pad in the upper right, Where a passing raven might rest for the night. And if you wander nearby on your way, there’s a hollow of magic just waiting to say, The thing you need most to hear that day. Then one day by the fire when it's time to recover, you’ll find a small sliver of something or other, Let it carr

Tell me again about the castle!  Please?  Well, it’s a far one this time, way inside the corner of the mind. You may remember travelling there, back in '17. There’s a chilly rose-pink sunset, but I guess that’s just as well, since Things are as they should be.  There’s a tall gate that guards the tree lights and a table set with candles and a roast with carrots and onions and walnuts wrapped in sugar cookies. The fire logs throb with red, the big stones warm the great hall The planked floor is spread with a soft rug and a knitted pillow. Dawn breaks with snowy craters, tatted and iced by the night.   Snow Castles

 Freedom breaking after the winter storm   Over the Central Park Reservoir